Free Beyond the Edge of Dawn by Christian Warren Freed Page A

Pirneon thought it was more a circus than anything important. Anticipation was building despite his years of training and self-control. He almost couldn’t wait for Bradgen to set his plan in motion. He ate sparingly, and his eyes never stopped scanning the crowd. He’d already picked out three of his potential assassins. They seemed nervous and skittish, enough that Pirneon knew they were false attackers. A fourth assassin sat not far from the head table. Pirneon was almost impressed. The man had the eyes of a professional killer and was as composed. That made him the primary target.
    Adonmeia abruptly stood. The tent gradually fell silent as all heads turned towards the Caliph. Pirneon caught the malevolent gleam in his eyes, wild and lusty.
    “Tonight is the dawn of a new era for our kingdom. No longer will the tribes waste their futures trying to kill each other.”
    A cheer erupted. Men hammered their mugs on the table. Adonmeia held his hands out for silence.
    “After so long, our most hated enemy has at last been humbled. The enemy alliance has lost its head thanks to the services of our esteemed Vengeance Knight. Satrap Habrim is now in custody!”
    A pair of burly guards forcibly hauled Habrim to his feet and dragged him before the assembly. Bradgen shifted his gaze to his placed killer and nodded so slight Pirneon almost missed it. How Habrim managed to maintain his dignity was beyond him. A great cheer arose through the crowd.
    “This usurper thought to keep us from our destiny,” Adonmeia roared over the noise. “His ragtag filth of tribes wanted us to rot and suffer in poverty and famine while they grew steadily stronger. Is this fair?”
    “No!” came the rousing shout in reply.
    “And when we were at our weakest, they meant to attack! To crush us under their wicked heel and make slaves of us all!”
    Pirneon listened intently, not for the message but for what wasn’t said. There was a sense of magic in the words, and the lie was presented flawlessly. He’d seen no indications of an invasion of any fashion. His suspicions were that Habrim’s people were the ones in suffering and Adonmeia wanted to crush them a little harder. Politics of the desert were often cruel without discrimination.
    “Destiny is with us. With the usurper on his knees and in our grasp, the enemy will lose heart and flee before the might of our scimitars!”
    Another great cheer arose.
    “Bring me the prisoner!”
    Adonmeia wore a smug look as Habrim was pushed and prodded before him. The air of intensity rose sharply. All within the tent felt electricity charging the atmosphere. This was a moment they’d long been waiting for. Habrim was taken to a small raised platform behind the head table. A guard lashed out when Habrim moved too slow, catching him behind the knee. A sickening crunch was heard as Habrim fell. With a nod from Adonmeia, the executioner stepped from behind a section of paneling.
    Pirneon felt helpless. His promise to the Satrap was in vain, and there was nothing he could do to stay the moment. He was forced to turn to his own plans. Habrim had made his choice and—if this was, indeed, part of a conspiratorial plan—was prepared for the consequences. Now it was time for Pirneon. He folded his arms inconspicuously across his chest, hands stealthily slipping into his tunic and grasping the hilts of a pair of daggers.
    The head table was curved, with the horns facing row after endless row of diagonally placed tables all filled with now-frenzied savages. Oil lanterns hung high above their heads, giving him enough to see by. Bradgen had no doubt placed him at the end of the table nearest the others on purpose. With no one between the killer and Pirneon, he had a clear avenue of approach. Pirneon knew that he’d strike first as soon as Bradgen gave the signal.
    Adonmeia slowly walked behind Habrim and leaned down.
    “This is your end, my brother,” he said in a voice only they could hear. “Once you’re dead,